


the prince's bed

by plastiswafers



Category: Best Friends Forever (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastiswafers/pseuds/plastiswafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis can always blame lapses in judgement or moral character on the weed; he's not sure what Vincent's excuse is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the prince's bed

Louis's not a stoner in the sense that he respects himself, bathes regularly, and doesn't consider _Harold and Kumar_ to be an aspirational treatise on the human condition, but he _is_ a stoner in the sense that he greatly enjoys weed. Go figure.

But not in an embarrassing way—that's the key. Rolling into homeroom with red eyes is a statement, the kind of statement that should be reserved for every once in awhile when you want to remind people that you _can_ be intoxicated on school grounds, not that you _need_ to be intoxicated on school grounds. It's a fine line, one that most people can't manage: being an artfully hip drug user instead of a scuzzy lowlife mouth-breather. Not that Louis minds—he's never been much for competition.

At home, things are different. His mother? Never home. His step-father? Somehow even less so. And John...John's off indulging his latent homoeroticism with some sports practice or another (hopefully hockey, because there's nothing Louis loves more than the phallic imagery of a hockey stick). That leaves Louis, his bong, and the couple of cans of Febreze he keeps on hand whenever he decides to smoke on the couch in the living room. It's a perfect recipe for the non-masturbatory version of self-love; it's the perfect vantage point from which to sit and wait.

_what r u up to?_

Louis, as always, isn't disappointed. The barest flicker of a smirk spreads over his face when his phone buzzes and Vincent's missive is sitting there waiting for him. He taps out a reply immediately.

_door's unlocked ;)_

It's not a routine, because Louis hates routine, and routine with Vincent Fawkes takes this whole arrangement past the realm of "pleasantly scandalous" and into "mundane and depressing" territory—but Louis knows well enough to know when he's going to be on the receiving end of closeted jock desperation, and Vincent's looks of pointed misery during homeroom that morning had been more than enough of a telltale sign. Louis should probably hate himself for fucking someone with an emotional capacity on par with his fifth grade reading level, and yet...Louis has had worse.

He smokes another bowl to deal with that depressing thought.

And that might just tip his hand a bit, turns lightly faded into more than a little baked, because Louis hears the door open and doesn't even register what that sound corresponds with; he looks up a little while later to see Vincent staring down at him with a wrinkled nose and disapproval plain on his face.

"Dude," he says, crossing his arms, like the caveman brow wasn't enough. "It smells like a skunk in here."

"That's insulting," Louis says, even as he stretches and pushes himself over to make room for Vincent to flop down next to him. "Your unrefined palate is yet another reason why I should be ashamed to be letting your dick anywhere near me."

Vincent flushes an angry red, the color he always seems to be around Louis. "You're high," he says, once again accusatory.

"No way. What tipped you off, the bong or the jar full of bud?"

"No, I mean like...higher than usual. You're loopy."

 _That's insulting_ Louis wants to say, then remembers he already said that. "And you've gone full homo for a boy who puts you in the friendzone on like, a weekly basis," Louis says. "Are we pointing out obvious facts now? Is this the game?"

Vincent is avoiding eye contact now, which is generally the part of the hookup where he stops trying to make conversation and pins Louis onto the nearest surface. Louis has no problem with that—and yet, today he is wrong.

"It was really bad today," Vincent says. He pivots so artfully into what he clearly wanted to talk about all along; Louis can practically _taste_ the misery emanating off of him, and it's not a sensation he particularly enjoys. "It's like—I don't think he knows what he's doing, but it's always like he's rubbing it in my face...like he always just has to say the exact thing to remind me of all these things I don't want to think about, and—"

"Oh God, _please_ stop," Louis says abruptly. "I can't handle therapy hour right now, I seriously can't. Get your pants off, I'll give you a blowjob as long as you shut up."

Vincent gives him his best mournful stare. If he's about to turn down a grade-A blowjob for the sake of wallowing in self-pity, then he doesn't deserve what Louis is offering him. "I dunno," Vincent says doubtfully. "You don't really seem...sex appropriate right now. Maybe I should just go home."

More self-pity, like going home without an orgasm is a fate worse than death. "Don't worry, you have successfully killed my buzz within the last five minutes," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "You come over here when you're depressed and you want me to cheer you up. You are horrifyingly emo, and I am here on cheer up duty. Just suck it up and get sucked off like any sane person would do in this situation."

Vincent still looks dubious; Louis feels mutinous. He looks at the half-smoked bowl sitting on his coffee table and is struck with an idea.

"Or," he says slyly, leaning forward, letting his hand fall on Vincent's chest, watching Vincent's gaze fall to his delicate fingers. "I could get you to relax another way. If you shut up and let me do my thing I _promise_ you won't be thinking about you-know-who by the time we're through."

Vincent still looks dubious, but leans back, letting some of the tension seep out of him. Louis smirks.

He takes the lighter he's had palmed in his hand and takes a decently large hit, knowing without even looking out of the corner of his eye that Vincent is visibly blanching. Louis decides that he doesn't especially care.

He lets the smoke sit in his lungs and tries his best to ignore the cough that's threatening to bubble up out of him; instead, he swings his legs over to straddle Vincent's hips. Vincent looks as if he's about to run—and Louis wouldn't put it past him to go for it, too, so he doesn't waste any time.

When Louis presses his lips against Vincent's, he can't tell if it's compliance or a gasp that makes Vincent open his mouth, but Louis breathes out, slowly, letting the smoke pass his lips and into Vincent's mouth, and Vincent breathes in until the last bits of smoke curl out from the corners of his lips and dissipate into the open air. Louis pulls away but only barely; he lets the full weight of his body press up against Vincent's chest, lets their lips stay close enough to brush.

"I can't believe you just got me high," Vincent grumbles. "I have to go to work later, you know."

"It hasn't even hit you yet," Louis scoffs. "And you barely got anything out of that, honestly. I'll pay you myself if you're still high by the time your shift starts."

"So I'm not supposed to be high, but the entire point of this was to get me high so I could relax?" Vincent raises one eyebrow but he seems more arch than pissed off. "That's real stoner logic right there, Louis."

"Well, then that's what you get for fucking a stoner." But he leans forward and kisses Vincent again, lazy and slick with one hand cupped along the side of Vincent's face, none of the frantic kinetic energy that Louis has come to expect from their hookups. Score one point for the weed. "Besides, I can feel your boner, asshole. Now try again to tell me you didn't like it."

Vincent still looks embarrassed, like he always does at any mention of his blatant love of dick, but a little less so, a little vaguely so, like he knows he should be ashamed of himself but can't remember precisely why. "I would never say that," he says with a half-smile. "Speaking of 'boners'..."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Ready for your blowjob now?" he says. He peels himself off Vincent's legs and sinks to the floor, on his knees between Vincent's legs, and rests his forehead against Vincent's inner thigh. He lets out a giggle that he immediately cuts short. "...In a minute. I'm kind of really fucking high."

Somewhere above him, Vincent snickers, and snakes a hand through Louis's perfectly coiffed hair, and waits.


End file.
